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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

Chap.<^S5apyright No 



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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



AUG 30 !»«« 



At the Foot of the Mountain 



EMILY R. LOGUE 




. PHILADELPHIA 

H. L. KILNER & CO. 

Publishers 



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'Vy\ 



Mmb 



Copyright, 1898, by Emily R. Logue. 




'm;.OPIF.SRF,C£|V£o. 









1898. 



TO 

my Tatber ana mother 

WHOSE PATIENCE, GENTLENESS, AND UNTIRING 

SEIvF-SACRIFICE HAVE MADE THE 

BRIGHTNESS OF OUR 

HAPPY HOME. 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

THE DAISY 7 

PHILADELPHIA 8 

BABY 9 

THANKSGIVING 11 

OUR FAITH AND OUR COUNTRY 13 

OUR DEAREST AND BEST WE GIVE UNTO THEE 14 

TO LONGFELLOW'S PICTURE 15 

TO ST. CATHARINE OF ALEXANDRIA 17 

MUSIC 18 

IN THE PEACE PAST UNDERSTANDING 21 

SIC TRANSIT GLORIA MUNDI 23 

THREE FRIENDS OF MINE 25 

SYMPATHY 28 

HYMN TO ST. CATHARINE 29 

REQUIESCAT 30 

IN MEMORIAM 31 

A PICTURE ... 32 

GREETING TO REV. GERALD P. COGHLAN . . 35 

THE PARTING OF THE WAYS 37 

LIGHT 39 

ODE FOR THE SILVER JUBILEE OF THE CATHEDRAL T. A. B. 

SOCIETY 40 

MY DARTHEA 42 

THE HIGHEST ART 43 

TO ALICE 44 

ALONE 45 

LAST DAYS 46 



THE DAISY. 

"Written for the L. C. C. 

Low in the fragrant meadow the sweet, white flowers lie, 
Engulfed in the w^aving grasses like stars in a clonded 

sky ; 
O purest white! O yellow gold! how great, how wide 

thy scope, 
Combining Faith with love of land, our hero, and our 

Pope. 
O little flower of innocence! O daisy, fair and bright! 
Lowly thou art, yet none could be more precious in our 

sight. 
Until the close of earthly life our model thou shalt be. 
Modest in worth, in beauty meek, spotless in purity ! 

Before the sleeping ages wake. Lord, grant that we may 

live 
In the innocence of childhood, with the wisdom years 

should give, 
And be as Thine own little ones, and worthy our home 

above ; 
Ne'er shall the tempter conquer 'neath the shield of Thy 

perfect love. 

Calvary's Cross was lifted that sin from us might fly! 
Let us live for His greater glory, die for Him when we 

die. 
Unfettered by the chains of sin may we go to join the 

fold. 
Beloved of God, in heaven to share the joy earth cannot 

hold. . 

7 



PHILADELPHIA. 

Song of the L. C. C. 

Beloved Philadelphia ! the clear sunlight falls 

Serenely to-day on th}' historic walls ; 

And gladly thy children of freedom's bright days 

Unite, Philadelphia, in singing thy praise! 

'Mid the Stars and the Stripes to the calm breeze 

unrolled, 
Most proudly the blue and the buff we enfold, 
With fast-beating hearts that are loyal to thee, 
Beloved Phi ladelphia, the home of the free ! 

Where calml)- to-day, under Freedom's blue sky, 

Columbia's fair banners are waving on high, 

The hand of oppression was heavily laid. 

When we bowed under laws that a tyrant had made. 

Then, thou, Philadelphia, with generous hand. 

Didst offer thv bravest and best for our land; 

No man found thee wanting, and proudly we claim 

The City of Brotherly Love as thy name. 

To the God of our countr}^. Whom all men obey, 
For thee, native city, most humbly we pray 
That peace and aifection may dwell evermore 
In the hearts and the homes of our dear native shore. 
May the blessing thy bell pealed a blessing remain , 
In the land for which heroes were willingly slain. 
All honor, all love, and all praise unto thee. 
Beloved Philadelphia, the home of the free! 



BABY. 

The moonlight streams into the room, 
And guided by its light I trace 

The outline, all untouched by gloom. 
Of a baby's pure, sweet face. 

More dear than life and wealth to me. 
More fair than brilliant charms, 

The form I hold so tenderly 
Within my loving arms ! 

"What shall I wish for him to-night? 

For worldly wealth or earthly gain ? 
Ah ! would they make his future bright. 

Or would they only bring him pain? 

I know that thorns must alwa^-s be 
Upon the fairest roses found. 

Yet I would try, dear one, for thee 

To learn where thornless ones abound. 

I know the little hands that rest 

So quietly on mine to-night. 
May be with Heaven's riches blessed 

To lead some wa\-ward heart arisfht. 



These trembling little feet may press 

. Hard roads, which love makes smooth to-day; 
These eyes be dim with weariness 

When youth's clear brightness fades away ; 

But God's light shines on fair and clear, 
Though every earthly joy may fleet, 

And I may trust Him without fear 
To euide the babv's feet. 



^. 






THANKSGIVING. 

Across the dear old church the morning sun 
Falls softly on the heads bowed low in pra\'er; 

On each unhappy and each joyous one, 

Glowing with youth, or worn with age and care. 

Far down the aisle, where fitful shadows creep, 
A woman kneels with silver head bent low; 

Too worn with sorrow are the eyes to weep 

That gaze, while hurried footsteps come and go, 

Upon the shining Cross above the Throne 
Where God is resting, that His children ma}' 

Kneel at His altar where He reigns alone, 

And praise His bounty on Thanksgiving Day. 

"Father!" — the trembling hands are clasped in prayer, 
A strange light dawns upon the features mild, — 

"I thank Thee for the years of loving care 

Which Thou hast given to an unworthy child ; 

"I thank Thee for the grace which always gave 
Me faith and strength to say, 'Thy Will be done;' 

Thy loving grace, which made me calm and brave 
When Thou didst take from me each well-loved one. 

"I know that safe from every care and pain 

They rest in Thee, where trials are unknown : 
Then, Lord, accept from my poor heart a prayer 

Of thankfulness that through much sorrow I have 
grown 

II 



"To love Thee more, and say with each succeeding 
year, 

' Oh ! may Thy Holy Name be always blessed ; ' 
To lean on Thee, Who dries the mourner's tear. 

And gives the weary heart eternal rest!" 

Lower the silver head was bent, the noon-day sun 

Fell softly on the figure worn and old ; 
And high in heaven, ere the simple prayer was done, 

A woman's name was marked in shining gold. 




OUR FAITH AND OUR COUNTRY. 

On primal rock sublimely standing, 

Undaunted by a trace of fear; 
Reposing silent, yet commanding — 

Faith of our fathers, holy, dear ! 
Anew we pledge our trust to thee, 

In union with our love of land 
That life-blood shed for liberty 

Has made a nation, free and grand. 

Amid the battle's din and roar, 

No braver men than ours e'er fought ; 
Deep in their hearts a silent prayer 

Of hope, for freedom — dearly bought. 
Up to the fair blue sky, its bright stars worn and 
dim. 

Rose proudly the tattered flag — forever free. 
Crimson with blood, with powder black and grim. 

Our Faith ! Our Country ! proudly we 
Unite with love 'neath Freedom's sky; 

No more shall brave men wearily 
Tramp to the music of a battle-cry. 

Resting, we dwell in peace, the hard fight o'er, 

Yet true to God and country evermore. 



13 



OUR DEAREST AND BEST WE GIVE UNTO THEE. 

Yes, unto Thee we give to-day 

Our most-beloved one ; 
But, dearest Lord, we cannot say 

"Thy Holy Will be done!" 

Most cherished hopes have fallen low, 

And crushed and broken lie 
Upon the bier, where sad tears flow 

And dreams unfinished fade and die. 

"He giveth His beloved sleep!" 
A sleep so free from earthly pain, 

That even while bitterly we weep 
We would not have him wake again. 

Slowly the daylight fades away, 
And faintly glows the dying sun : 

Lo ! kneeling at Thy Feet, we pray, 
" Thy Holy Will be done ! " 



14 



TO LONGFELLOW'S PICTURE. 

Look gentl)- on lis, with the earnest, speaking eyes 

That saw so much of loveliness in all thy kind! 
That gazed beyond the clouds for smiling skies, 

And in the present left the dead past far behind. 
Wild passion did not sway the willing pen 

Which never faltered in thy tireless hand, 
Bnt toiled with love for suffering fellow-men, 

And aimed to make earth's brief life fair and grand. 

And who shall say the labor was all vain 

In which a long and blameless life was spent? 
Ah ! not the hearts oppressed with bitter pain. 

For whom his wise and cheering words were meant. 
Sad tears may fall, some thoughts will bring 

Hushed memories from the past's long-folded leaves, 
Bnt hope has balm for sorrow's ache and sting, 

And consolation when the human spirit grieves. 

We know that if the long-sealed lips could speak 

The loving heart would prompt him still to say. 
If he had helped to guide the frail and weak. 

Or taught a faithless, wandering heart to pray. 
His hours of mortal life had been well spent 

And his long-cherished visions well fulfilled; 
That talents by an all-wise Master lent 

Had been made use of as the keeper willed. 



15 



Thougli worthier lips than ours have sung his praise, 

We lay a loving tribute at his feet: 
We too must have our share of dreary da}'s, 

But soon or late the dark and sunshine meet ; 
And for the courage which his teachings give, 

And for the skill and patience of his art, 
We love him, and his songs shall live 

Re-echoinsf in the human heart. 



i6 



TO ST. CATHARINE OF ALEXANDRIA. 

Not for tliy far-famed beauty, and the power 

Which might have crowned thy happiness on earth, 
The honored and historic house which gave thee birth, 

The rare and brilliant charms which were thy doAver, — 
But for the meek humility which laid 

All honor and all worldly wealth aside, 
We love thee, Alexandria's fair maid. 

And claim thee for our patroness and guide. . 

The world holds us in thrall — our trembling feet 

Pace restlessly on its alluring strands, 

And with unseeing eyes we place our hands 
On treasures that a mortal life deems sweet. 

We strive for dreams that quickly pass awa}' 
And leave but little trace to mark their reign 

When summer's richer bloom succeeds to May, 
And life bears many scars of grief and pain. 

Pure virgin heart! in which Love's burning glow 

Supplanted all that worldly lives desire; 

Oh ! meek self-sacrifice, which placed within that fire 
The vanity and pomp of things below : 

O chosen spouse of Christ! whose virtues sliine 
Undimmed through passing ages, pray that we 
May imitate thy burning love, thy swest humility. 

May keep our hearts as meek an.l pure as thine! 



17 



MUSIC. 

(To one -who loves her art better than herself.) 

Our great Creator, mindful of inconstant l:earts — 

Clinging at times to heaven, but most to earth — 
Designed, of boundless love for men, the arts 

Which lead us to a higher, nobler birth. 
We read the words long-quiet hands have penned. 

And find beneath the lessons they contain; 
The writers' lives have reached a fruitful end. 

But their abiding faith and hope remain. 

We stand before a picture, musing on the dreams 

That wrapped the artist's soul in days fore^-er fled, 
And on the glowing canvas wandering meiiiciy seems 

To trace the thoughts he painted as the quiet liours 
sped. 
The sculptor's hand has formed of senseless clay 

Fair visions of a noble soul's ideal. 
And though he sleeps well after life's brief da}^ 

His works ha^■e power to make us think and feel. 

And if we wish to lay aside the cares 

That vex our troubled souls from time to time. 
To breathe out all our weariness in pra}'ers 

Worthy with heaven's angelic choirs to chime. 
Our loving fingers touch the pliant keys. 

And play with lingering tenderness the. strains 
That soothe the restless heart to tranquil ease. 

And care and turmoil vanish — happiness remains. . 



i8 



All moods are here: — the ct}' of mad despair 

That goes out from a wrecked and wasted life ; 
The bitterness of poverty and care ; 

The recklessness of passion and of strife. 
Long, long ago, a master fierce with pain 

Touched the responsive chords in speechless grief, 
And told through them the love that was in \'-ain — 

The dream of joy whose reign had been too brief 

And some have sat, with lowly drooping head, 

Caressing the white keys through bitter tears. 
Recalling words and memories of the dead,' 

Which love intensifies with passing }-ears. 
But that same bitterness has passed away, 

Ivea^•ing a quiet sadness in its stead ; 
"Hope on," we hear angelic voices say; 

'"Tis well with your beloved and happy dead." 

Who has not known the grief, the hopes and fears, 

The joy of happy moments, felt by all. 
Revealed to the loved instrument in far-off }-ears. 

Whose melodies still hold the world in thrall? 
Through mighty strains we dream of wealth and j)ower, 

Of honors bravely won and grandly worn ; 
Through solemn strains, of life's fast-fleeting hour. 

And happy hearts of earthly grandeur shorn ; 



19 



And as a sweet, low strain falls softly o'er us, 

We see no more the paths by mortals trod, 
For we behold a place more fair before us. 

And then, ah! then, we dream of heaven, and God. 
And should it be our happy lot to cast 

On even the least of His one ray of sun, 
Oh ! let us serve Him ere the day has passed, 

And the long night-time's endless rest begun. 



mufc) 






IN THE PEACE PAST UNDERSTANDING. 

Who that has seen the brightness of her smile, 

And listened to her words, so calm and kind — 
Who that has pondered thoughtfully a while 

On the sweet charity of her broad Christian mind. 
Can turn from the drear void her absence makes 

Without one bitter tear — one vain regret ? 
For memory once-joyous harp-strings wakes. 

And dwells on chords we gladl}^ would forget. 

Brave and unselfish to the last. 

She smiled in the old way again, 
And one more honored life had passed 

From all earth's grief, its care and pain. 
Aye! heap her bier with flowers, their fragrant bloom 

Speaks of a life that never dies — 
A life beyond the silent tomb, 

Smiling from God's immortal skies. 

A crown to-day rewards a cross ; 

Its heavenly brightness gleams. 
And pierces through our bitter loss, 

With hope in all its beams. 
So beautiful and calm to-day. 

Serenely on God's loving breast, 
With all her fierce pain soothed away. 

She sleeps in love and rest ! 



Oh ! winter snows, fall soft and white 

Upon that dearly cherished mound ; 
Oh ! fair spring blossoms, fragile, bright, 

Within its loved precincts abound ; 
Oh ! fragrant summer roses, blow . 

And fall o'er it in showers, 
For she who calmly sleeps below 

Is one of heaven's flowers ! 




SIC TRANSIT GLORIA MUNDI. 

A few swift-passing years, 

Well marked by smiles and tears, 

And hiding in tlieir folded leaves 

Sweet fancies playful childhood weaves ; 

The golden dreams of life's brief Ma}-, 

The waking of a later da}', 

And long-dead thoughts that E^•ening^brings 

On ]\Iemory-laden wings. 

Da}'S when the sunbeams stray 

Upon our merr)' way, 

And days when even heaven's clear blue 

Is shrouded from our mortal view ; 

When thorns have sprung in mid-day hours 

In paths that Morning decked with flowers, 

And gloomy shadows over all 

Our hopes in silence fall. 

The cherished friends of old 

Now lying 'neath the mold ; 

The eyes whose loving glances sta^-ed 

Our bitter words when passion swayed ; 

The hands whose light touch spurred us 'on, 

Forever missed, forever gone : 

Ah ! Heaven must be very fair. 

For those we love are there. 



23 



We dry the bitter tears 
That fall o'er buried years, 
Andlturn towards the smiling skies 
So'far above our weary eyes. 
Oh ! Earth, when thy vain idols fall, 
One hope remains to comfort all : 
Of our fond hopes the dearest, best — 
In Heaven, there is rest ! 



24 



THREE FRIENDS OF MINE. 

The last October sun had set, 

Lea\-ing the night which young hearts give to 
mirth, 
When we four happy girl friends met 

To have "the gayest time on earth!" 
Four very different girls, in truth. 

Made the old house with laughter gay ; 
Alike in this much — love and youth 

Were theirs, and care was far away. 

Describe them ? Well, I'll try my best 

To do them justice — three of them ; 
The fourth I beg to leave at rest. 

You know her very well as "Em ;" 
The other three were Marys ; strange 

So vast a difference marked their ways ; 
Yet, after all, I would not change 

These friends, so worthy of my praise. 

One ]\Iary has the clear gray eyes 

Whose power I have learned to know ; 
Such dazzling brightness in them lies 

You scarce can read the depths below. 
Brown ringlets fall caressingly. 

As though they loved their resting-place. 
And lend, if such a thing could be. 

An added sweetness to her face. 



25 



An airy and coquettish way 

Suits this friend well, yet hides from view, 
Beneath a manner light and gay, 

A heart and nature warm and true. 
Don't change, dear Mary! each caprice 

Belongs by every right to you ; 
And if your many moods should cease, 

I might not love you as I do. 

Oh ! Mary of the trusting heart. 

The world holds you unspoiled and sweet ; 
You still believe the better part 

That may be found in those you meet. 
I would not have you lose that trust 

Which seems so much a part of you ; 
And when youth fades, as fade it must, 

Believe, dear, still that hearts are true. 

Grave, honest brown eyes mark the third 

Of these dear friends ; almost a child, 
Whom pain and doubt have never stirred, 

And on whom life has always smiled. 
An honest mind that scorns deceit, 

A heart to friendship ever true ; 
Ah ! sister mine, it were not meet 

That I should ask a change in you. 



26 



You think I am most strangely blest 

In having friends like these to claim? 
Well, if the truth must be confessed, 

Believe me that I think the same. 
But sometimes those who deeply feel 

Too seldom can express it well, 
And all their hearts would fain reveal 

Their lips have little power to tell. 



27 



SYMPATHY. 

Standing upon the height which you have won 

Through struggles with your passion and your will, 
Gaze downward — with the contest just begun, 

Your brothers slowly mount the rugged hill. 
Ah ! do not scorn the least, remembering 

That Wisdom's Hand has fashioned weak and strong. 
Or, with a cold contempt and pity, fling 

Your hard-bought conquest at another's wrong. 

They are so few, the years we spend on earth. 

So full of thought of worldly loss and gain. 
We scarce can learn our fellow-creatures' worth. 

The nobler nature that the humblest lives contain. 
And so we keep the little words of praise, 

Which add new joy to joy, and lessen care. 
Deep in our hearts, forgetting weary days 

Through sympathy grow easier to bear. 

In the full knowledge that divinely over all 

God watches, and His Will does not decree 
That even the weakest step should faint or fall 

In the long pathway to a glad eternity, 
We live and hope ; oh ! may that knowledge bring 

Patience and love for every passing day: 
So helping, trusting, heart to heart shall cling 

In perfect love, that knows of no decay. 



28 



HYMN TO ST. CATHARINE. 

Beneath far Eastern skies, 
Where vice held regal sway, 

First shone the light that lies 
Upon the world to-day. 

Not as the glaring sun 

That dazzles with its beams. 

And when the day is done 
Fades into crimson streams. 

But with diviner light. 
That luring not with gold 

Still shines through all our night. 
And leaves no dark, no cold. 

Oh ! chosen spouse of God, 
Let thy bright radiance fill 

The weary pathways trod 
By erring creatures still. 

And when our lives shall cease. 
Of, earth no more a part. 

Guide us to rest and peace 
Within His Sacred Heart. 



29 



REQUIESCAT. 

When tired eyes have closed on earthly scenes, 

And wear}^ feet to fairer paths have stra3''ed, 
We, but half-knowing what the silence means, 

And seeing only darkness, are afraid. 
Yet, what is death, that we mnst shrink in fear ? 

And what life, that we cling to it so long ? 
Ah ! one makes pain and grief forever clear. 

And one is but a conflict for the strong. 

Yet we have loved, dear Lord ; Thou wilt not chide 

If we forget that Thou didst bear a cross. 
If our weak tears in falling sometimes hide 

The^^light which Thou art shedding on our loss. 
Oh ! teach us that the mist has fallen now 

From the yoiuig eyes that fondly gaze on Thee, 
And help us 'neath Thy Will to firmly bow, 

Not in dumb sorrow, but in faith, and willingly. 



30 



IN MEMORIAM. 

Who lives for God alone shall die in Him, 

And know His rest and peace. Oh ! \vear\- hearts, 
Oh ! eyes with care and sorrow dim, 

All our unceasing restlessness departs. 
When, at the silent touch of the Unseen, 

We give our mortal lives into His care, 
Unasking what eternity may mean, 

In full content to know that God is there. 

Therefore, no vain tears fall upon our dead : 

Why should we weep, though every gentle word 
Which once was ours to claim is left unsaid? 

The voice we loved, on this low earth unheard. 
Makes music in a home more fair and bright ; 

Grief would be selfish, tears but weak and vain. 
Remembering our darkness is her light. 

And our brief parting her eternal gain. 



31 



A PICTURE. 

The clear Easter sunlight is streaming 

In gladness and brightness o'er all, 
And I — I am standing and dreaming 
Where most of its light seems to fall, 

Touching up into glory the poets, who sleep 
After toil, in a rest that is tranquil and deep. 

And, lo ! I am gazing no more 

On the pictured resemblance of men. 

For the days which they lived in of yore 

I have brought back in fancy again ; 

All the glad Easter sunlight has faded away. 
And I am in far-off New England to-day. 

In old Massachusetts, the trees 

Are just bursting to bloom, but the birds 
Have ceased to pour forth on the breeze 
Their rejoicing ; they list to the words 

Of the poet of Nature, who walks with hushed tread. 
Drinking in the deep calm of the skies overhead. 

•With head lowly bowed in deep tl. ought, 

I see Concord's learned sage stand. 
And each precious moment is fraught 

With dreams that will float o'er the land : 

Ah ! the dreams that he cUerislied — dreams born 

amid flowers — 
We have but to long for — to seek — they are ours. 



In the calm after-tide of a life 

That is worthy of hearing "Well done," 
Deep scarred with the bitterest strife, 
One rests, with his honors hard won ! 

And his gray head is heaped with the prayers of 

the slave 
Whom he called in truth, "Brother," and labored to 
save. 

There is laughter more frequent than tears, 

Where the Autocrat pauses a while ; 
And often in long-after years 

The moan will be checked in the smile. 

When the hand that is guiding the tired pen to-day 
Has completed its task, and has mouldered away. 

Shall one more low voice strive to speak 

Of him who is greatest and best ? 
Ah ! no, for my words are too weak. 
And his undying fame does not rest 

On the tributes of others ; he speaks, we are miite. 
And but one perfect melody strays from the lute. 

And lastly, the teacher and guide 

Of the weary, and sinful, and worn ; 
As softly I come to his side 

His voice on the calm breeze is borne, 

And I listen intently, my eyes growing dim. 
For one word, one only, to cherish from him 



33 



Whose lessons of wisdom and trnth' 

Oft guided my faltering pen ; 
Oh ! bard of the love of my youth, 
I bring you my homage again, 

And the old-time sweet patience and courage I see 
In the eyes which so gently are gazing on me. 

And this is my question to-day, 

As each beautiful record I trace. 
Oh ! as the long years pass awa}^. 
Will one word of mine merit a place 

In some world-weary heart, dreaming on through 

the cold 
Of a day that the sunlight will turn into gold? 



34 



1S72. i897- 

GREETING TO REV. GERALD P. COGHLAN. 

How calm and cold our written words will look 

When we have placed our thoughts beneath their 
guise ! 
Lo ! as try to frame them, memory's book 

Discloses all its treasures to our eyes. 
What does its record show? The happy days 

So lighth' prized, when all their golden store 
Of Nature's rarest gifts made bright the ways 

To which our lives shall lead us back no more. 

And through those memories one name we trace 

So often, that we turn in eager quest 
To find what claims for it so large a place, 

And why its gleam is brighter than the rest. 
Look well ; no wondrous deeds — a gentle word, 

Said lightly, and perhaps with little thought; 
Said and forgotten, but the hearts it stirred 

Cherished the memor}' of the good it wrought. 

To-da}-, when many loyal hearts have come. 

In glowing praise their mighty love to speak, 
Why should our erstwhile ready lips be dumb, 

Though faint our speech, and poor our words and 
weak? 
And yet, what need has that calm life of praise. 

On which God smiling stretches out His Hand, 
And gives His benediction to the ways 

Whose heights of love we cannot understand? 

35 



Far, far from things of earth we lift our eyes, 

And dimly see, so fast the shadows fall. 
The goal we seek, whose shining gateway lies 

Adown the path which has an end for all. 
Beyond the mist, so bright the radiant gleam 

That trials are scarce worthy of record, 
And sorrow grows an unremembered dream 

Before the message, "God is thy reward!" 

Father ! our voices fail ; the past has fled. 
We cannot keep its pleasures at our will. 

But, though our loving words are coldly said. 
We claim to be your faithful children still ; 

And as such pray that all the kindliness 
You give to other lives unceasingly. 

May be returned with strengthened power to bless- 
That as your worth so may your merit be ! 



36 



THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 

I feared to raise my eyes, lest I should see 
That not far off our paths would separate ; 
I was content — ah! too content — to wait, 

And let the happy days pass quietly, 
As they had done so long: I might have known 

That He, whose Love goes on eternally, 
Would claim that young life in its purity 

Ere adverse winds across its course had blown. 

And drifted it through all the bitter pain, 
The weariness, the misty doubts and fears 
Which are the world's; where, after many years, 

We learn to count the cost of what is vain, 
And scornful that we saw it not before. 

And that earth's faded beauty looked so fair. 
We turn at last to God, giving Him little more 

Than broken hearts for all His love and care. 

My dearest! I am standing here alone, 
Gazing through tears far down the quiet way 
Which is your wise choice now, and oh ! to-day 

I have not strength to follow out my own. 
Which looks so dark, so dark, and strange, and cold 

Without the smile which, at my slightest word, 
Springing to life, in low-breathed message told 

Of thoughts with which the childish heart was 
stirred : 



37 



Childisli in one thing only, that no trace 
Was on it of the world of doubt and sin, 
iVnd all the child's sweet innocence within 

Reflected on the pure and noble face, 
And spoke from out the deep, dark eyes, whose gaze 

Seemed fitted more for things of heavenly birth 
Than that it should grow troubled in the wa}'S, 

The sad and time-worn, toil-worn ways of earth ! 

Hers was a nature few could understand; 
One which in contemplation of her Lord 
Forbore the careless smile, the bitter word. 

And seeing all souls noble made demand 
For something greater, worthier of us all 

Than we had thought to give. She had a gentle 
way 
Of smiling into silence comment small. 

And making natures nobler for her sway. 

I miss the steady hand which always led. 
In spite of years, where it was best to go. 
And oh! far more than all, the bright smile's glow 

Which o'er my life its richest fullness shed. 
And at the cross-roads, where her loving eyes 

lyook last on me, then bravely looked before, 
I stand forlornly as the daylight dies, 

Longing for that which shall be mine no more. 



38 



LIGHT. 

A little child, who spoke of Things Divine 
As thongh she moved amidst them every da}-, 

Laid her white hand with gentle touch on mine, 
Eager to charm ni}' quiet mood away. 

I sat with half-closed eyes, and only felt 

As in a dream the bab}^ presence near; 
My thoughts, which through the long, sad day had 
dwelt 

On all that made the vanished past so dear, 

Had with the falling darkness turned to Him 

Whose lyove I had not claimed when it v/as da}- ; 

Now, with a heavy heart, and eyes grown dim, 
1 saw my brightest visions die away. 

Ungrateful ! oh ! ungrateful ; all my 3^ears 
Ha\'e felt in every joy His love for me, 

And only when my smiles have changed to tears, 
I thank Him for His mercy willingly, 

"What are you thinking of?" The baby head 
Was drooping, and the voice was very low ; 

The child's sad wonder roused me, and I said, 

"Of what Heaven is, my darling, do you know?" 

Was it a child of earth? Ah! could it be? 

Who, with a far-off smile, and eyes grown Ijright, 
Stood there beside me, and so reverently 

Said, "Yes, I do know; Heaven is light .'''^ 
39 



ODE 

For the Silver Jubilee of the Cathedral T. A. B. Society. 

The scorn of those 
"Whose only love is self — who cannot see 
The kindred spirit of humanity, 

Was what you chose. 
He was your model whose Divine Hand's touch 
Had blessed the poor and outcast willingly : 
IvO ! hear His voice through ages, "Inasmuch 
As to the least, ye do it unto Me!" 

Sorrow and sin had grown 
So common that the great world passed them by, 
Hearing unmoved, or with regretful sigh. 

The orphan's bitter moan. 
Which told of aching hearts, of tears that fell 
From childish eyes, where Fancy's magic spell 
Had never lighted ; from which hate and gloom 
Looked on the joys that happy children know, 
And learned too soon to view the awful doom 
Which filled their lives with poverty and woe. 

God saw and planned: 
He looked into the faithful hearts where dwelt 
The great and boundless charity which felt 

His mercy would demand. 
One day, of them the efforts they had made 
To rend the fair disguise which Sin had worn ; 
Who knew He blessed the hand stretched out in aid, 
The lips that smiled when others curled in scorn. 
40 



Thus was the work begun : 
And Truth's steep mountain, though so hard to 

climb, 
Draws man}^ to it in God's own good time. 

Ah ! what the years have done — 
The tears that changed to smiles, the lives made 

blest. 
Because you have so nobly led the way. 
And smoothed it for your followers to-day — 
Frail hands shall not record ; God knows all best. 

Reverently linger o'er 
The records of the past ; the good deeds done. 
The battles bravely fought, the triumphs won, 

By those now gone before, 
"Who stand within the radiant light of day. 
Forgetful that their weary feet once pressed 
The paths so hard to tread. All passed away 
The toiling, and how calm and sweet the rest ! 
So shall your merit be, who love all men : 
May He, who guards as well the high and low. 
Give you the strength to do, the grace to know. 
Till His Recording Angel writes, "Amen!" 



--#®^ 



41 



MY DARTHEA. 

There is no wondrous beauty in thy face, 
Whose dear charm lies not in well-rounded grace, 

In faultless curve, or perfect symmetry ; 
Thy sweetness from the world's cold glance is hid, 
Yet in all graciousness it comes unhid 

For love or sympathy. 

Grief which has hardened some, embittered more, 
Has left thy nature gentler than before : 

Dost thou know how the smile which hides thy pain 
Has shamed to rest much useless murmuring, 
For what the years again may never bring — 

So weak, so vain ? 

They call thee proud and cold who do not know 
How wonderful, how tender is the glow 

Which lights those dear, dear eyes, whene'er they rest 
In steadfast gaze on what, of all we view 
Is grandest, noblest, worthiest of you — 

The beautiful, the best! 

I am content to hear thy slightest word, 

To see thee smile, to feel thy touch has stirred 

Thoughts into life none other can impart; 
My love is far too deep to give thee praise. 
But, Darthea, for all thy gentle ways, 

Take thou my heart. 



42 



THE HIGHEST ART. 

Far on the distant hill I saw the light, 

And struggled on, though many fell asleep; 

It was a long and lonely watch to keep. 

So bleak the wa^', so coldl}' still the night ! 

Ah ! nie, the load-star faded from ni}' sight, 

And I too rested, but it was to weep : 

"Alas!" I said, "the ascent is so steep, 

I will return, and none shall mark my flight:" 

I saw deep down into a great man's heart. 

And mourned the wounds a slighting world had 

made ; 
He smiled in answering, "Forbear thy ruth. 
And journey on; thy sorrow shall depart. 
Thy soul find peace, and be no more afraid : 
Thus love rewards the search for endless Truth." 



43 



TO ALICE. 

The world sees many faults in those 

Whose pleasure chiefly lies in books, 
But, child, their lover early grows 

To smile at its averted looks. 
How worthless seem the gilded ways 

Through which men wander blindly on, 
To one who, all unmindful, strays 

With those whose light still shines upon 
The passing ages ! Willingly 

Forego the idle waste of hours 
Which some call life; this company 

Rewards disciples well, and dowers 
With richest life those brave to scale 

The thorn-set mountain. Childish eyes, 
Look calmly up ! No glittering veil 

Of hollow pretense can disguise 
The joy which you will find at last. 

So, bravely take the path well-trod. 
And, with weak terrors fought, temptations 
passed. 

Your soul shall grow more pleasing unto God. 



44 



ALONE. 

A quiet spot, where few would find their way ; 
May sunlight on an old and broken stone, 
A grave by sweet wild-flowers overgrown, 
Whose fragrance breathes of life, and not decay ; 
And, pitiful it seems, a rose, full-blown, 
Half-hides beneath its leaves one word, "Alone." 
Has fancy changed the cloudless sky to gray, 
Or do we see the sun through tears to-day? 
Oh, silent heart ! I wonder if you know 
What hands caress the flowers above your head, 
By whom this long-neglected path is trod? 
I wonder was it all so long ago 
That you forget the lonely life you led, 
Bnraptured in the presence of }'Our God? 



45 



LAST DAYS. 

A new hope dawns upon the Summer now, 
A nd sad delight the heart of Nature stu's ; 

The sweetest of the months, with cahn, fair brow, 
Is crowning brows as fair and calm as hers. 

Oh, children, watching from a magic land, 

Whose brightness lends the world a tender glow. 

Fame, wealth, and happiness at your command, 
Would that the years to come might leave you so ! 

Yes, linger now ; these da}-s bring to a close 
The glory of your childhood, fleeting fast ; 

Awhile in paths of peace the calm brook flows. 
But reaches wind and storm at last, at last ! 

Ah, will life seem too hard when sorrow's crown 
Lies heavy on the brows that flowers adorn? 

Will you smile on, or lay the burden down 
As one too heavy to be meekly borne? 

How your last school-days vividly recall 

A happy child, whose heart was just as light, 

Who felt that faith and love were dear to all, 

Whose tears blot out the shattered dream to-night. 

Your passing footsteps slowly die away, 

And on the summer wind there comes to me 

The faint, sweet music of a far-off day. 
Vibrating on the chords of Memory. 

46 



